Date: Sun, 26 May 2013 14:42:01 -0700 (PDT)
From: abbadabbaisme@yahoo.com
Subject: Jockstrap
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JOCKSTRAP
In eighth grade, my friend
Mark and I both ran cross country. If we didn't have practice at school, we'd
start running from his house and go about five miles. One day, we got so
competitive with each other that neither one of us wanted to stop, so we ended
up running ten miles instead. By the time we got back to his house, it was
late. It looked like we were going to miss that night's banquet if we didn't
hurry. Our coach had assigned us server jobs for the teacher's awards dinner. Mark
took a shower in his bathroom and told me to use his dad's bathroom and to
hurry. I brought my clean clothes with me to his dad's bathroom. I stripped off
my sweaty running clothes and left them on the floor, quickly showered, dried
off, got dressed and hurried to school with Mark.
It wasn't until two days
later that I realized I'd left my running clothes in his dad's bathroom. Mark
said I could pick them up that afternoon when we went running again. When I
looked in his dad's bathroom, my clothes were gone. In the corner was an
overflowing laundry basket. I thought maybe my stuff was in there so I dug in. There
were lots of dirty t-shirts and shorts and socks. They all had that sweaty
smell that reminds me of locker rooms. That smell everyone always makes fun of
like it's disgusting or something. I took a big whiff of one of his t-shirts. It
was like sniffing one of those marking pens with the strong chemical odor. I've
never been high, but I bet it feels like it felt when I sniffed that shirt. Another
shirt was even moister and smellier. And the pits of it were actually wet. I
rubbed my nose in them.
"Looking for something?"
Shit. It was Mark's dad
standing in the doorway. What could I say? I had his shirts pushed up to my
nose, my eyes were closed and my mouth was hanging open. At least I was wearing
jockeys so he couldn't see my boner. I just pretended I wasn't doing anything
unusual and explained I was looking for the clothes I'd left there a few days
ago.
"Ah," he said. The way he
looked at me, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He opened his mouth like he
was going to say more, but then shut it. He looked at the floor for a few
seconds, then looked up but not at me. It was more like he was looking at
something he was thinking of instead. Finally he looked at me and gave me a
small grin. When he spoke, it sounded like he'd made up his mind about
something. All he said was, "Why don't I help you out?" He stepped past me and
dug into the basket. "Here, hold these." He dumped his sweaty laundry into my
arms. Shorts. Boxers. More t-shirts. Beaters. The deeper he went in the basket,
the stinkier the clothes were. It was like he hadn't done laundry in weeks. And
he just packed all of if in my arms. By now, I couldn't even see his face, the
clothes were stacked so high.
Then he stuffed something
between my nose and all the clothes. Man, did it smell. It was like the smells
of everything else crammed into this one thing. It was so close to my face, I
couldn't tell what it was. All I knew was I liked the smell of it best of all –
and it was sticky. I reached around my load of his clothes to grab whatever it
was that smelled so much when I heard him say, "Here we go." He knocked all of
the clothes out of my arm. My hand hooked on that smelly whatever it was so it
was the only thing I was left holding. My eyes focused on Mark's dad looking at
my face. It looked like he was trying not to smile. My eyes shifted focus to
what I was holding right under my nose: it was his wet, smelly, sticky
jockstrap. I quickly lowered it, accidentally smearing my upper lip with
whatever was on the jock. It was almost like I had a thin layer of milkshake or
honey or something there. He held up my clothes. "Are these what you were
looking for?"
I said yeah, thanks, and
reached for them, dropping his jock onto his pile of dirty laundry.
"I notice you don't have a
jock of your own," he said, handing me my clothes one item at a time. "You can
use mine if you want."
"Um..." I didn't know what
to say. "I don't think it would fit." What I meant was that it would be way too
big for me but that's not how it sounded.
He laughed. It was like
some tension in the room was all of the sudden gone. "Big man, are you?" He
kept laughing. "I bet you it does fit. Let's see who's right. Go ahead, put it
on." I didn't move. He closed the bathroom door and locked it. He looked me in
the eye. He wasn't smiling any more. "Right now."
It was like all the
tension was back in the room, only worse.
"Um... okay..." I put down
my clothes slowly, as if by going slower I could put off having to take off my
pants in front of him. I could feel my dick growing and I didn't want him to
see me with a boner. I didn't want him to see me naked at all but especially
not with a boner. I unbuttoned my pants. As I unzipped them, I turned away from
him, but it was tricky because of the mirrors. He could see my front no matter
which way I turned. Finally I got my pants and shorts down. I was really glad
my shirt was so long. I picked up the jockstrap and crouched down to pull it on.
It was way too big. I had
to hold it up with my hands, the waistband was so loose. At least the cup was
so big on me you couldn't see my boner.
"I guess it doesn't fit
after all, does it?" Why did it look like he was always going to laugh? "When
you get one the right size, it should fit like this." He stood behind me and
grabbed the surplus waistband tight and tied it in a knot. Then he pulled back
on the leg straps so the whole thing was snug. We were both looking at me in
the mirror. He pulled up my shirt and said, "This is what it should look like."
It almost looked like it
fit me in spite of the extra wide waistband and extra big cup. But now there
was no hiding my boner. It was perfectly outlined by the cup of the jock. I was
so embarrassed. Our eyes met in the mirror. His face wasn't very far from mine.
I could smell his breath. I could feel it. Then I noticed the big wet spot at
the front of the pouch. I was leaking precum. I don't know if he saw it or not.
I sure hoped not. I pulled down my shirt and covered myself up, trying to make
it look as casual as possible.
He picked up my running
clothes to hand them back to me again and it looked like he sniffed them. Then
he looked at me and said he had an idea. He said I ought to put on my running clothes,
that way I wouldn't forget them. It didn't make any sense to me, since I'd
still have to remember to take home my street clothes, but I didn't want to
argue. I'd agree to anything to get this awkward moment over, so I said sure. For
a second I thought he was going to make me change clothes in the bathroom with
him right there watching. I think he saw my worried look. He kind of laughed
and said he'd see me later and left the bathroom. My shirt was over my head but
still on my arms when he poked his head back in and said I could keep on his
jock if I wanted. Just to get a feel for one.
I quickly changed into my
running clothes before he could come back in. They smelled incredible. Hot,
sweaty, just like a locker room. Just like him. It was a couple of years before
it occurred to me that's probably why he suggested I put them on right then.
Mark and I went running a
little later. I kept wiping my face with my shirt. It wasn't that I was so
sweaty. It was because I loved that smell. Believe it or not, that night I
slept in those clothes. And when I jacked off, I didn't even clean up. I just
wiped it all up with the jockstrap I was still wearing and went to sleep with
my cum mixed with his smell.
From that day on, Mark's
dad always offered me a t-shirt to wear running. I always accepted. They were
always the sweaty shirts he had worn to the gym. He even bought me my first
jockstrap.
Several years later, when
I recognized that I was gay and accepted it, Mark was one of the first people I
told. He was cool with it. Straight, but as cool as if he were gay himself. And
so was his dad. And I'm pretty sure he was straight, too. He never ever made a
move on me or tried to see me naked. It was like that day never happened. I
think he just saw a kid who might be gay and helped him through an awkward
stage. But he did keep giving me his sweaty shirts.
()()()()()()()()()()
All comments are
appreciated, so please write.
Other stories:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/little-dude-series/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/the-hand
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/special-rest-stop